I first saw him on the Andy Williams show, when Andy introduced the new baby in the band of brothers that were the Jacksons...On came this little lad, his Afro hairstyle framing his cheeky little face just perfectly...and then....out came the voice!   

The rhythm flowed through that child, raised on music from the moment he was born, surrounded by it, but....more than that...born with it, born with it inside him, likewise with the Dance. An ability to make the song and dance pure, because it was as much a part of him as breathing...

Andy's face shone that night...I can still recall his smile, because he knew what was coming.

Well, the little lad never went away, did he?

He lived his life in the way of those words above (posted by 'Guest' who was me, earlier on)

Michael's music became the background to the lives of many generations...His music was loved by people of all ages, it made you move! You couldn't hear one of his songs and not feel it going through your own body!   

Heck, I recall dancing to Billie Jean, letting it all go, at a wedding wayyyyyy back, and loving every single second of the movement in that song, it was its own blood coursing through your veins...

Over the years, he grew paler, his nose grew thinner, his hair grew longer, and you began to realise that this Superstar was so uncomfortable in his own body, probably hated the way he looked. The terrible pain he must have endured, in his efforts to find some 'face' that finally fitted the 'inside' Michael, brought shivers....And all the time, the greedy surgeons lined up to operate on him, to cause the disfigurements that later showed on his face...

And so he hid, behind his masks, under his hat, under his hair, under his make-up, never letting the world see the real Michael, because hell, I doubt even he knew who that was anyway...

The damage an abusive parent does goes so deep.   The damage to a child deprived of a happy childhood goes even deeper.

Was he a child molester? I have absolutely no idea. None of us do, even those who condemn him. It seems hard to understand why a man who loved kids so much would want to hurt them, when he'd known such hurt himself. Sleeping with kids 'innocently' is a weird one, yet...when I think back to when I was 19, and in hospital for a month with an eye problem, I was in the kids ward, and every night I'd gather those little ones on to my bed, read them stories, talk to them, make them laugh, ease their fears, cuddle and hug the ones that needed a hug. Why? Because I love children, absolutely no other reason whatsoever. I've always hugged children, always, it's the most natural thing in the world to me, but hell, that doesn't make me a child molester.

The last time I saw Michael Jackson was in Exeter, a few years back. I'd been listening to Radio 2 that afternoon and Steve Wright had come on, saying that Michael was due to be in Exeter later that day...Yeah, right, Steve! ???????   The 'story' went that he'd flown over at the request of Uri Geller, who'd recently taken over Exeter City Football Club, and Uri had asked Michael to help raise money for the new Football Stadium (now all built and shiny)

Well....you know when you hear something soooooooo crazy that you just think "Hell, let's do this!"....that's what I did...I got the kids and said "Come on, we're off!"....Got to Exeter, followed the crowds to the football stadium, bumped into my neighbour who had some spare tickets. We went in, sat down and waited.....waited for the hoax to start....

Er...Uri Geller was the first on the small stage....Up he sprang, doing his bit...Everyone's looking at one another, and smiling, thinking we're all as daft as each other...and *then* Uri starts to introdue Michael and a hush falls over the crowd....A few moments later, a Chitty Chitty Bang Bang kind of car drives out on to the pitch, going all around the stadium. On the top of the open back seat sits a smallish figure, almost hidden under a black umbrella...

"Cor! It's Mary Poppins!" says the bloke next to me...and we smiled...
The car stops at the stage and out jumps the slight figure, surrounded by burly fellas. He climbs up to where Uri is and starts to talk and yup, it's the Real Michael alright!

So there we sit, in the afternoon Devon sun, listening to Michael Jackson talking about saving the world, being kind to one another, changing the way this ol' world is....Quite *the* most surreal day of my life!   

And now he's moved on, to a place where he'll find peace at long last, where his every move won't be monitored, where he won't have helicoptors flying over his house, photographers at every corner, journalists, publicity agents, greedy bastards taking advantage of a soul that could no longer cope with reality.

I watched Gladys Knight talking about him earlier on, saying how all of those who 'worshipped' Michael had done this to him, she included herself in that, turning him into what he became...But no, for me it started with his nasty father, and went on from there...

I believe that he really was the kind, shy soul that so many of his friends knew and have spoken about...a trusting, innocent person who saw life differently and never really understood this thing called 'life'...

Uri Geller spoke of how he and Michael would argue, when Uri would tell him he was way out of line in some of the things he was doing, laying himself wide open for accusations, but he didn't listen, because he felt it was all innocent, so what was there to worry about?

Watching him going around that tacky store that someone spoke of earlier struck me as incredibly sad, because he was just walking round it saying, "One of those, two of these, one of them" nothing meant anything to him. Nothing does when life itself means so little...

I'm glad he died relatively young, before age tore him apart any further. Before the vultures got their photos of 'Michael Growing Old' and he found more greedy, gruesome surgeons to tear his face and body apart further in his efforts to stay the child he was never allowed to be, the feminine face he so longed for..

No wonder Elizabeth Taylor understood him so well, because she never had her childhood either. Diane Ross cared about him, but he started to look so like her, it must have spooked her...He seemed always desperate to be anyone but himself, that cheeky little lad, with his cute nose, lovely hair and smiley face.

He was a superb performer, an unbelievable dancer, a brilliant songwriter and singer and to be honest, imo, there'll never be another that can touch him.

The world demanded a Superstar, and became that, at the cost to his happiness, his sanity, his life.

So, Michael, for all those years when you made the world happy whilst you lived your years bewildered and locked away, trusting Bubbles more than you trusted most humans, thank you...Thank you for the truly incredible music and dance that you let behind. And hey, there aren't many lads in short trousers, who wear sparkly socks and grab their crotch that could make me watch 'em....but you had me hooked!

Beat It

The Man In The Mirror Documentary - Part 1 - Youtube (all other parts are also there)



At last, he can now finally *be* Michael....